The party pressed onward through Floor One, Kairon's satchel sagging under the weight of magic stones and scraps of hide. Every step reminded him that survival came at a cost.
The walls curved unnaturally, as if the Dungeon had grown them instead of carved them, veins glowing faintly and casting shadows that slithered across surfaces. The low hum of magic vibrated through the stones, making his chest thrum in time with it. Every sound mattered.
The scrape of Sera's blade against her scabbard. The soft tap of Corin's boots as he shifted his weight. Bren's low, tuneless hum crawling under Kairon's skin. Lars's steady tread, deliberate and unshaken, a rhythm that pulled the group forward.
A low, wet tearing sound broke the rhythm. Kairon froze. His chest pressed against his satchel.
The wall bulged, cracks splitting across the stone as if the Dungeon itself was breathing. Something pushed its way out—a goblin. Pale green, slick-skinned, yellow eyes gleaming in the dim light, teeth clicking like broken keys. It hissed, a sound both wet and rasping, the crude blade it clutched reflecting the faint glow of the dungeon veins.
Kairon stumbled back. This wasn't a story anymore. He was inside the nightmare.
"Goblin," Lars said, voice calm as naming the weather. His greatsword slid free with a whisper of steel. "Form up."
Sera raised her shield instantly. Corin drew and loosed an arrow in one smooth motion, the tip sinking into the creature's chest. It shrieked, staggering, only to be cleaved in half by Lars's blade moments later.
The goblin dissolved into motes of black smoke, leaving behind a jagged magic stone and scraps of hide.
"Collect it," Lars ordered.
Kairon crouched, hands shaking. The stone burned faintly in his fingers. The hide, sticky and pungent, made his stomach twist. He stuffed both into his satchel, realizing the weight of survival—not just of carrying stone, but carrying proof of death itself.
Bren's sharp grin cut across the silence. "Welcome to the Dungeon. Don't drop the goods, porter."
Kairon muttered, "Right," adjusting the satchel. Each movement made the weight of Floor One tangible, like a lesson in mortality.
They pressed deeper, the tunnels twisting unnaturally. The veins in the walls pulsed faintly, casting moving shadows that seemed almost alive. Every scrape of stone under boots, every distant echo, made Kairon flinch. He noticed things now—the faint scratching behind the walls, the smell of damp earth mixed with faint sulfur, the whisper of air moving as if the Dungeon breathed around them.
They walked in silence for several minutes, each step measured, each footfall a reminder of the fragile rhythm they maintained. Kairon's mind raced with every creak and drip, imagining hidden predators behind every bend. Sweat stung his eyes, and his fingers ached from holding his satchel so tightly.
The narrow passages opened into wider chambers, still dimly lit by the glowing veins. Kairon's breathing hitched at the sheer scale. The ceiling arched high above them, shadow swallowing shadow. He could hear water dripping somewhere far off, each drop a beat in a song of suspense that kept him on edge.
Another goblin emerged suddenly, clawing from the wall with a shriek that echoed and multiplied against the stone. Kairon flinched as Sera's shield absorbed the first blows with bone-jarring thuds. Bren darted in, his dagger flashing, leaving streaks across green flesh. Corin's arrows flew unerring, each cutting short a shriek midair. Lars moved like an unstoppable avalanche, steel smashing anything unlucky enough to stand before him.
Kairon crouched low, collecting the jagged stones and scraps of hide. Each piece left a faint warmth in his palms, the residue of life extinguished. It was terrifying and mesmerizing, the proof of death tangible.
The party moved cautiously again, entering a long corridor that twisted in the Dungeon's unnatural geometry. The walls seemed to curve inward, narrowing their path, forcing Kairon to keep tight against them. Shadows leapt and danced across the walls with every flick of torchlight.
Every step brought new noises—scrapes, clicks, wet hissing from unseen creatures—and Kairon realized how quiet the party's movements were, how their coordination created a rhythm he could follow to survive. His legs ached, his lungs burned, but he pushed forward, trying to imprint each sound and motion into his memory.
He stole glances at his companions. Sera's gaze scanned ahead relentlessly, shield ready. Corin's casual air hid a predator's precision. Bren's smirk never wavered, though he moved with a lethal grace. And Lars… Lars remained solid, a rock in the chaos, measuring threats and cutting them down without hesitation.
Kairon tried to imagine Mira's face. He tried to think of home, of the shallow pit behind the shed, of the wind tearing over cliffs. He used it like a talisman against fear. Just survive.
After several tense minutes, the corridor opened into a spiraling stairwell leading downward. The steps were slick with moisture, scattered with pebbles, and narrow, demanding careful placement. Lars paused at the edge, glancing back at the group.
"Next section—Floor Two. Eyes open, stay close. Don't slow down," he said.
Kairon swallowed hard. Floor One had tested him, had nearly broken him with its noise, its smell, its sudden bursts of violence. And yet, here he was. Still moving. Still alive. Still clutching the satchel that carried the proof of both.
"Yes," he whispered. "Just survive."
The party began their descent into the darkness of Floor Two, leaving Floor One behind, a lesson in death and survival etched into Kairon's very bones.